The Flamel Enigma
by notsosolemnly
Summary: Attempted murder, The Last Supper and a series of very, very clever clues pointing to the Philosopher's Stone in this Da Vinci Code-esque action packed mystery!
1. Chapter 1

THE FLAMEL ENIGMA

PART 1

Lord Voldemort sat at his desk one evening with a dip in his plucked brows. He was looking at a list of recent recruits, just not pleased with the lot. He needed to talk to somebody, so he opened his minion-book and pressed his finger hard against Magot's name. Magot came running through the double doors, clutching his burning arm.

"Maggot," Voldemort greeted him.

"My Lord," Magot moaned.

Voldemort stopped pressing the name. He watched Magot collapse on the floor and turned around in his chair, looking out at the bad weather.

He felt so dissatisfied.

"It's like," he began, still looking for the words. "I've been looking at the recent recruits. It just bores me that they're all so _same-y!"_

"Same-y, oh Darkest of Lords?"

Lord Voldemort spun back to the list on his desk.

"80 % are Slytherins or former Slytherins or some equivalent. 10 % are bored with their wives or husbands and are looking for excitement. 7 % want to get away from their kids."

He put the list away.

"I mean, where's the diversity?"

Magot scrambled back up on his feet. Often had he felt this confused.

"Di...versity, oh Vilest of Serpents?"

"Exactly."  
"Well, there's Raj Mahal. There's Esteban Xavier Barriga de Lobo. I consider ourselves to be very diverse compared to some other evil organisations."  
"You misunderstand me, Maggot. I meant diversity in _here."_

Lord Voldemort put a finger to his head.

"I don't follow you, oh most Putrid of Kings," said Magot.

When The Dark lord arose, he feared he had offended him and he began to sweat intensely.

"You all think the same! You all say the same things! You always agree all the time!"

"Yes! Yes we definitely do!"  
"What I really need is some fresh input! _Don't_ do it, Maggot!"

"You know I don't do 'that's what she said' jokes. I have to confess I am very confused. Don't you want us to agree with you?"

"Yes, but ideologically! You have to agree that muggles suck but beyond that I'm open for ideas!"

"Oh ok. Good to know."

Magot could hear crickets. So he stomped them DEAD! He wanted to go back to Tojours Fromage.

The Dark Lord then changed the subject completely. He opened a scroll and used an inkwell and paperweight to keep it from rolling together like baking barchment. Magot could just make out from the lines that it was some kind of map.

"For ages I have searched for it..," the Dark Lord mumbled.

"Searched for what, oh most Chiselled of Scorpions?"

"The Philosopher's Stone."

"You search, therefor you are?" Magot chuckled.

"Shut up. It will be my ticket to immortality, if I ever find it. But I've just never been good at finding things. I just don't understand how some people do it!"

"Neither do I! " said Magot. "Every other day I miss the bus because I can't remember where I put my keys. All of my aquaintances are the same. But once in a blue moon you come across a person who seems to have a sixth sense, devoted just to finding. I went to school with one such chap. His name was Bustopher Jones and he was not skin and bones."

"Why do you bore me, Maggot?"

"I do apologise, oh Darkest of Well Toned of Torsos. It's just that he was such a sniffer dog! Found everything, he did."

Lord Voldemort took that list of recent recruits from his drawer and skimmed it for Jones's. But he didn't have a single minion called Jones. Baddies weren't called 'Jones'.

"I went to school with a chap called Jones," he recalled. "Candidus Jones. Hufflepuff. More frightened of me than a mouse."

"To be fair, oh Delicious One, mice aren't particularily scary-"

"I meant that a mouse would be _less_ frightened of me!"  
"That is odd, considering you use them as pet food."

"Maggot! Stop digressing!"

"Sorry."

"I'm reminiscing!"

"Please go on."

"Well, everybody feared me, even then. It's when I knew I wanted to be the Dark Lord..."

The pause that followed went on for so long that Magot saw it fit to pose a question for he was sure there was a point to all this.

"And what was so remarkable about this Candidus Jones?"

"The bloody idiot found my di-journal! He used it for his flower prints! I had pollen in my brain for _months_ and I'm very allergic as it happens."

"That must have been so difficult, oh Waftiest of Dark Winds."

"It was."

The Dark Lord made another pause. This time he used it to look Magot up and down.

"You look like you have kids ages 12-15, Maggot."

Magot suffered a very sudden and very aggressive fit of coughs.

"I assure you, I am as childless as..." COUGH! COUGH!

"So your Bustopher Jones could well have children that age."

"I know his sister does."

"Do you?"

"Yes. I met her several years ago up in Oldshed. I tried to pretend I hadn't seen her, but some people just don't return the favour. As I recall she was out with two small children and another one on the way as well as ten or so cats. Whatever became of her brother Bustopher I don't know."

"Do you know the name of her children?"

"Oh yes. They are names you can't forget. Now what were they...? Oh yes. The girl was called Trinket. The girl she was expecting was going to be called Filigree, named after her very third cat. The boy was oldest and his name was Mundungus. Fletcher, I might add."

It struck the Dark Lord that he had heard that name before! It so happened he had a recent issue of The Hogsmead Local in one of the drawers. He found it, opened the ad page and there he saw the ad:

Mundungus Fletcher

Finder extraordinaire.

Finds everything.

There was even an interview with him since Hogsmead was apparently short on real celebrities and had to make do with interviewing fat and dirty Hogwarts students.

This, the Dark Lord thought, this was the sort of Death Eater he needed; one who could find things. This was going to be his key to the Philosopher's Stone!


	2. Chapter 2

THE FLAMEL ENIGMA

PART 2

It snowed on the Tuesday after Easter Monday. Not a whole lot, but still. It was a lot by moist Hogsmead standards. If it got any colder than minus 2 centipede people would surely begin to DIE!

The chaps that were known as James, Sirius, Remus and Peter were not enjoying a previously more enjoyable stroll down Hogmanay Street. The weather had taken a dramatic turn for the more unpleasant.

They had read about it in the Hogsmead Local, how the Louvre Tent was going to be put up on 31 Hogmanay Street as a way of bringing art to local farmers who really weren't interested in anything but chickens.

"This must be the Louvre tent," said Remus.

He was referring to an ordinary green camping tent that had been put up between Hamish's Hardware and a McDonalds. A ribbon had been put up around it.

"I'm so bored I could even go in there!" said James.

"Let's do it then! I want to look at Botticellis!" said Sirius.

He stepped over the, as did James and as did Remus. Peter had to limbo under it. He was surprisingly nimble for such a corpulent little chap.

Sirius could confirm upon entering that the inside of the tent looked like the real Louvre because he had once been abandoned in the real tent as a punishment.

And so they strolled right past the unmanned reception and through several halls, taking no notice of the lack of other visitors. Sirius only had his mind on Botticelli, because he had him confused with another painter that was famous for painting a lot of botties, and who's name nobody could remember at the moment.

Botties were nevertheless abound.

After around five minutes or so they were already so bored they would have simply turned back, had they not just entered the most important room of all!

"Wow!" said Remus, awestruck by the sheer scale of _The Last Supper._ "It's beautiful and huge!"

And he wanted to touch it!

"Aren't you missing something?" James asked.

"I'm going to look for Mary Magdalene!"

Remus had to step over the dead body on the floor to get closer to the painting.

"A book has lied to me. Again."  
"So am I right to think that is a woman?" Sirius asked, pointing at one of the apostles.

"I think he just might be a really young chap. Da Vinci was into those. But I agree, he almost looks too much like a girl."

"He looks a bit like you."

"A very muscular girl with very masculine features."

"Who are you talking about now?"

"He only looks girly in comparison to the rest of them, because they all have beards and dark hair."

"And also, a person in a painting is not necessarily a woman because it looks like one. I mean you've seen the art page in the School Paper. You can use a woman as a model when painting a bloke. I don't really recommend it, but Cas does it a lot for her Star Trek fanart."

"Why?"

"Because she can't find any good reference photos of blokes holding hair dryers in 16 Magasine. And she's never even watched Star Trek! She also does it to make Kirk and Spock look 'cute and youthful'. Sean Connery holding a gun just doesn't do it for her. But I've let her borrow some of my glam rock magasines so I'm hoping for more realistically proportioned shoulders from now on."

It seemed to James that he was the only person interested in the dead body lying on the floor in front of him. The victim in question was a man, early sixties age and fashion sense, vastly overweight and vastly over-moustached.

James gasped.

"It's Professor Slughorn!"

 _Now_ Sirius and Remus stopped discussing Star Trek slash fanart and came over to look at the body.

"Oh wow," said Sirius when he saw that it hadn't been a joke.

"I don't believe it," said Remus. "Who could have done this?"

A small rug lied beneath the feet of the deceased. James removed it to reveal a message that had been scratched on the floor.

"He left a message! It says: _Find Mundungus Fletcher!_ "

"Fletcher? Why in the world would the Old Slug want somebody to find him as his last dying wish?"

"Slug! Why would anybody murder him? The murderer! Who on earth is the murderer? Obvious questions? Just who would ask them?"

"Verbally expressing beffudlement? Just who would take such an issue with that?"

"Verbally expressing beffudlement? What _other_ ways of expressing beffudlement are there?"

"Twits! Have they not even heard of sign language?"

"It's still _words?_ Is it not?"

Now they were just confused.

So they all got down on their knees and began to search the various pockets. They weren't too keen on it, and had to decide by rock, scissors and parchment who were to search the trousers.

Sirius was very relieved when all he found was a letter.

"It's from the Nicholas Flamel Society," he said when he had opened it. "Their symbol seem to be that of a kind of tulip. The flower is closed, the stem is rather thick and the leaves very short and stocky."

"What is the Nicholas Flamel Society?" James asked.

"What do you think? It has to do with Nicholas Flamel and sexual rites, obviously!"  
"How are those two things connected?"

"Because they Holy Grail is Mary Magdalene's womb!"  
"No," said Remus.

"I know the Holy Grail isn't _really_ a womb, kept in a canopic jar in the Rosslyn Chapel like _The Da Vinci Load_ claims!"

"It isn't. But there is something else that is interesting about _The Last Supper,_ art, religion and Nicholas Flamel!"

"Oh really?" said James. "And what's that, pray tell?"

"Well, have you ever _really_ looked at _The Last Supper?"_

"I have looked at it today. I've seen it in movies and magasines."

"So what does it look like?"

"It's just a bunch of chaps sitting at a table, leaning close to one another. One of them looks like Spock holding a hair dryer because he was modelled after a Mary Magdalene."

"Where are the feet?"

"Where are the feet? They are on the floor, like, under the table. You can't see them."

"Aha! That's just your mind inventing things, making you see what it wants to see!"

"That sounds spooky! Is there a fancy word for that phenomenon?"

"Imagination. Look again."

James hadn't actually looked at it at all today, because he had been distracted by the murdered body. But now when he took the time to study it, for the first time in his life, he was shocked by what he saw!

"All the apostles have their feet on the table!"  
"It's symbolic!"

"Of what?"

"Feet! And whatelse?"

"Hmmm..,"

James had his nose so close to the mural it was touching an olive. Sirius, too, was searching it for something unusual or unexpected. James started at the far left, and Sirius at the far right, counting toes very closely until they came to the middle pair.

"By jove!" Sirius explained. "Here be six toes!"  
"Cor blimey!" said James. "You'd think that such a clever chap as Da Vinci would have known how many toes a foot has!"  
"Maybe he dug up a mutant corpse for his anatomy studies."

"Those are the feet of the vaguely somewhat androgynous not overly square-faced apostle, Saint John," said Remus.

"I thought it was Mary Magdalene."

"No. That is Saint John."

"Well so what? That's not shocking. Except now it is kind of shocking to hear it really is a man."

"Oh, so you already knew it?"

"No. Well I knew there was an apostle called John, but I don't know who is who in _The Last Supper."_

"So how does the Philosopher's Stone come into this?" Sirius asked.

"The Philosopher's Stone isn't a stone. It's Saint John's extra toe."

He couldn't be serious.

"You are making this up."

"It's true."

"Where's the proof?"

"The symbolism is all over _The Last Supper, The Mona Lisa_ and other paintings Da Vinci did. Why do you think he bothered painting all these toes? Da Vinci didn't just add details for no reason. When he painted something, it was to reveal something. He was in _The Flamel Society._ He had all this secret information. Why leave vague clues like this? Because he was that bored, and it was better than serial killing."  
It was a very compelling argument for sure, undisputable even. But Sirius wasn't convinced.

"I still think he looks very much like a woman."

"Then there is the fact that when you take _Saint John the Apostle_ in ancient arameic and scramble the letters, you get _The Philosopher's Stone_ in medieval French!"

By jove he was right! That just couldn't be a coincidence.

"How do you even know all this?" Sirius asked.

"I...I just... I don't have some manic obsession with immortality in case you thought that!"

Echoing footsteps made them alert their every sense and nerve. What if it was an auror?

It was an auror! A young auror woman of outrageous beauty. Her hair was long and wavy, her robes a saucy cat suit. She gave her hair that Shwella-shake. Her face a thundering stormcloud of rage when she saw them.

"You!"  
She gripped her hair tightly and pulled off her mask, for she had not been a woman of outrageous beauty at all! She had been a man of outragous scary!

The boys screamed.


	3. Chapter 3

THE FLAMEL ENIGMA

PART 3

"Detective Moudacouscous!" they boys screamed.

They shut their eyes tightly and held eachother close.

"That's Detective _Inspector_ Moudacouscous to you!"

What made Detective Inspector Moody so scary was one of his eyes. He had two eyes, one of which a very standard looking brown eye. The other eye, however, was creepy beyond comprehension. It was about three times the size of his other eye, taking up a quarter of his jagged face, blood-shot, pulsating and it kept spinning around. It seemed evil, like an evil eye. The boys had only met the detective one time before, and they had not been able to supress the memory. Nor could they bare to look at the eye.

"The museum is closed," he said, his voice low and mysterious like those incognito kings that tended to frequent countryside inns. "What are you doing here?"

The chaps forced themselves to open their eyes and stop hugging. They were Gryffindors after all, this was simply unacceptable.

"Meddling," James replied, refusing to look directly at the detective's face.

"What did I tell you about meddling in what doesn't concern you?"

" 'What kept you?'"

"Exactly. What took you so long?"

"Uhm school."

"Bollocks. At your age the crime scene was my school. Except it wasn't. Well, you're here now, returning to the scene of crime, no doubt..."

"Never!"  
"We just wanted to look for the womb on _The Last Supper,"_ Sirius told him.

"Is that so?"

D I Moody looked at him with resentful pleasure. Miserable people with authority tended to do that, for they would see in him the individual that had been their object of envy and source of torment in school, just because he was so pretty.

"We shall see..."

And Sirius thought that was way unfair. Certainly he felt great unease around D I Moody's weird eye, but he liked to believe about himself that if he had gone to Hogwarts with a person with a monstrous side he would not laugh at him.

Well ok he would laugh at him and make lots of jokes at his expense but not with a mean spirit!

D I Moody squatted down by Professor Slughorn's lifeless body, smelled him, looked at him through a magnifying glass and tasted his moustache.

"Peanuts..," he mumbled. "A murder weapon from _The Da Vinci Load,_ which you chaps clearly are familiar with..."

"You can't seriously believe we did this!" said James, so offended by the accusation he forgot to avoid looking straight at him.

"Why not?" replied D I Moody. "This is Horace Slughorn, Hogwarts professor, potions amateur and Head of Slytherin House. You are Hogwarts students and I think I already established last time we met that you are show-offy Gryffindors. There's the relation to the victim and motivation for the crime."

"Well, Mr Detective Sir! If you knew us Gryffindors you'd know we are very pro-life and against abortion!"  
"It's what we have to say anyway," said Sirius.

"Besides, aren't you forgetting your promise?"

D I Moody had had his good eye on the body the whole time. Now he pocketed that magnifying glass and looked back at James.

"What have I ever promised _you?"_

"Not me, exactly. But you do remember us."

"Of course I do. You're the whippersnappers who a while ago stupefied an elf at Gringotts, hijacked a cart, broke into a vault, bringing with you an illegal _Pixiu-"_

"Bless you."

"-that you had stolen from a Chinese restaurant, damaged the roof, aaaand..."

He paused for a while.

"I think that was it. You belong in juvie!"

"Yes, but remember why you let us go? Your weird eye wouldn't stop falling out. So my friend helped you. He gave you bubblegum. He's like a bubblegum jesus. And lo, the freaky eye was fixed in its socket."

A sentimental gaze swept over D I Moody's both eyes, as he remembered.

"I remember that now. Sometimes I just pop an eyepatch over it. I couldn't do that before. Now I can have a normal life of dating and office romances, a professional career of sitting in coffee shops all day..."

"You swore him your most homoerotic loyalty or something," James recalled.

"You don't need to remind him of that," said Remus.

"You said you'd pull lots of strings in the future!"

"It is true. I did make that promise to the uhm...the uhm...Him. Is the term quasi-wizard respectful?"

"It's not the least bit respectful!"

"Alright! How am I supposed to know that? Now what would be a respectful term?"

"Fluffmonglers!"

"Fluffmonglers. I bet it changes all the time. Now, I expect that more aurors will arrive once they are finished watching Spells & Curses. If you like, I can conveniently get something in my eye so you can make your escape."

D I Moody turned away and began to scratch his weird eye.

"Alright let's make our escape!" said Sirius.

"But wait a minute, Sir," said Remus. "What about the message on the floor?"

"What about it?" asked D I Moody.

"I'm not saying that is the killer. But shouldn't you be thinking it is?"

"Of course not. First thing you learn in Auror school: the name on the floor is _never_ the name of the killer."

"Oh."

"Now, reading your aura, you seem like a jolly nice chap. So what if you tried to murder Professor Slughorn? I'm sure you had your reason-"

" _I_ didn't! Wait, he's not dead?"

"No he's just having an allergic reaction to French nougat. Paramedics should be here as soon as I give them the word."

"Allergic reaction? I might have something in my med-kit-"

"No. Just...no. Stay back. It's just against auror protocol."

"What is?" Sirius asked.

"Well, letting a fluffmongler near anybody ever. You have no idea what it does to the paperwork."

"Isn't it against auror protocol to let us make our escape?"

"Do you want to go to juvie? Is that it?"

"No!"

"It's less paperwork to let you get away. So I'm just going to put my hands before my eyes like so."

D I Moody put his hands over his eyes.

"Might as well make that escape now," said James.

"Escape where?" Remus asked.

"I don't know! Someplace where we can scan the stuff we found for symbols."

"Flawless plan!" said Sirius. "I'm very good with puzzles!"  
"Crossword puzzles and sudoku aren't _real_ puzzles!"  
"Are too!"  
The chaps were just about to look for the men's room and make their escape through the window there, when they were distracted by a couple of flies that hade made their way into the gallery.

One of the flew up James's nose.

"Ruddy flies! Where did these flies come from?"

"And what's that _smell?"_ Sirius wondered, clamping his nose.

Until now the gallery had smelled of oil painting. Now it smelled of fresh soil, chicken dung and hydrophobic Hufflepuff. Or somebody's weird love potion.

"Hey chaps!" said Fletcher as he merrily walked into the gallery. "Fancy seeing you here this Easter holiday!"

Flies swarmed around him like they were paparazzi and he was Raquel Welch.

The other chaps just gawped at him. Of course there wasn't a universe where Fletcher could be the murderer. But he was fat and short, and wrongly accused never were fat and short.

"I think he might even have put on weight!" Sirius whispered to James.

"Oh come on," James whispered back, surely intending to add something reassuring. "He's not really _fat._ He's just kind of... excessively dough-y."  
"Hm yeah now that you mention it..."

"I can hear you, you know!" said Fletcher, hurt. "And see you look at me like a piece of meat!"

"Sorry Fletch."

"I am flattered but I don't swing that way."

"Shame."

Fletcher looked at D I Moody, who stood by a white marble statue of a chap with a small willie. He still had his hands over his eyes (D I Moody, not the marble chap with the small willie) and he was counting.

"7...8..."  
Fletcher jumped and clapped his hands together.

"Oh are we playing hide and seek in a gallery? How fun!"  
"Do you know that the museum is closed today?" Remus asked. "Murder has been attempted in here."

Fletcher turned pale and began to temble.

"Murder has been attempted?!"

He looked at Professor Slughorn's body and screamed. He looked at _The Last Supper_ and screamed. He looked at the auror with the toaster-in-bath hair and screamed.

"And here I just walked right in, thinking it would be a nice day to admire some Botticellis! Instead it must look like I have returned to the scene of the crime!" In his sheer panic Fletcher began to cling to Remus. "They wouldn't suspect me, would they? WOULD THEY?!"

Remus broke free from Fletcher and directed his clinging to the statue of the chap with the small willie.

"No. But somebody, possibly Professor Slughorn, has scratched _you_ name on the floor."

"What?"

Fletcher left the statue to have a look. The chaps were afraid he would scream again and covered their ears.

"Any idea why?" Remus asked.

Fletcher just snorted.

"Well, _that_ part of the mystery is pretty obvious, isn't it?"

"How is it obvious?" James asked.

"I'm good at finding things. I can see that you have turned his pockets inside out. Did you even _see_ the ring with the Flamel Society insignia? Now I'm guessing they are devoted to the Philosopher's Stone and sexual rites. Somebody wants to find the stone. Where's a better place to start, than The Flamel Society? But they are a bunch of amateurs, they couldn't find a sandwich in Elvis Presley's kitchen. Who stands a chance at finding it? Why me, of course. I'm like the Warlock Gnomes for finding things, minus the fancy talk. The fail murderer must have seen my ad."

Fletcher could be such a shameless show-off and this was the only reason James and Sirius could tolerate him at all.

"If you're so good," said James. "Where is it, then?"

"I don't know. I haven't started looking now have I?"

"Have you and Slug talked about it?" Sirius asked.

"No. Professor Sprout is just about the only teacher I _talk_ to. I only ever talk to Professor Slughorn if I have a question about a potion or a quiz. But I haven't talked to Sprout about the Philosopher's Stone either."

Poor old Slug. Even as the least popular teacher at Hogwarts he didn't deserve this. Fletcher looked at D I Moody, who was still counting.

"So, uhm, who's the weirdo?" he asked, calling the kettle black.

"That's Rem, your cousin," said Sirius.

"No I mean the wizard in the saucy cat suit."  
"That's D I Moody. He's a bit mad. They call him Mad D I."

"Mad The Eye? Whatever for?"

"No, not Mad The Eye. Mad D I."  
"Oh that makes sense."

Then the D I spoke and it wasn't softly.

"If you lot don't get out of here by the time I count to fifty I will have you all sent to Juvie!"  
So the boys hurried up to find the men's room so they could escape through the window.


	4. Chapter 4

THE FLAMEL ENIGMA

PART 4

Next thing they knew, the boys sat packed together like sardines in a Ford Cortina they had broken into at a car park using a hair pin. Sirius was driving. Save for a couple of lessons with his cousin Bell at their family hunting lodge last summer he was more or less self-taught. He did not have a license.

"I feel safe..," said Remus, as they sped past another red light.

"Who want's to go over everybody's astrological sign?" Fletcher asked.

Nobody did.

"I'm Taurus!"

"It's fine, honestly!" said Sirius when the car was balancing on two wheels through a narrow alleyway. (Admittedly, that had to require a kind of skill.) "My cousin Bell tells me my driving is just as good as hers!"  
"Great..," said Remus.

The Ford Cortina came out from the narrow alley and continued down the Diagon Alley Road to Diagon Alley with a speed that forced pedestrians back to the pavement whenceforth they came.

"Aren't you supposed to stop for the blind?" Fletcher asked.

Sirius turned back to look Fletcher straight in the eyes, his arms hanging over the back of his seat. James had to mind the wheel in the meantime. He brought the car back to the left side of the road. Sirius had learned to drive in France.

"Now you listen to me!" he now said very sternly. "Acceleration and braking increases fuel consumption! So everytime I have to stop, the ozone layer gets another hole! Now do you want to kill us all with natural disasters?"

Fletcher shrunk where he sat without a seat belt.

"No..."

Sirius returned to the wheel, and James to the mixed tapes.

"We should have escaped the aurors now," he said. "Where are we going?"

"No idea," Sirius replied, avoiding an escaped poodle the last minute, as well as a cat. "You just keep looking for symbols and stuff back there, yeah?"

Fletcher was already glued to the window. Remus sat next to him, in the middle. He whipped out a bit of paper and drew something.

"This is the ancient symbol of the Shirley Templars. It's an L with a curved top and a line across the middle, making it look like a mash-up of the letters E, L, F. Do you see it anywhere?"

"The pound sign? There's a bank over there," said Fletcher.

The car came to a screeching halt outside said bank.

"At least I assume it's a bank," said Fletcher when he regained consciousness after hitting the seat in front of him.

They had stopped right outside 12 Greedy Street, outside a door with a sign that said: Wizard Bank of Wizard Zurich.

"That's no ordinary bank," said Sirius.

"What's so not ordinary about it?"

"That bank is, like, super secret! You can essentially store a dead body in there and refuse the aurors the right to search the vaults, because it's a Swiss bank and they have their Swiss laws or something. They are very strict. The only way to access a particular account is to enter the code."

"What are we supposed to do here?" James asked.

"Look for the stone, I thought."

"You think it's here? We have no evidence of that, and we do not have a code."  
"Or do we...?"

"No we don't."

"Or do we...?"

"No."

"Yes...?"

"Do we?"

"I don't know...?"

"Well, seeing as Fletcher is the one with the sixth sense or something, I say we should let him decide whether this is a good place to look. Fletch?"

"Wha'?" Fletcher replied.

"Are you hot?"

"Hot and tingly!"

So it was decided. They all stepped out of the car.

XXX

It was agreed that Fletcher was to pose as the grieving grandson of Professor Slughorn. Even if he wasn't dead, but had merely suffered a reaction to French nougat, the media was still treating it like a murder for money reasons.

The highly secretive bank they entered was small and had only two things about it worth noticing; one was a door that presumably led further into the bank to all those secret vaults, the other was the shiny counter behind which a witch in robes with the bank logo stood fingering an orb in the desk. She refused to take her eyes off the chaps. They would simply have to state their errand.

"Hello," said James. "I wonder if a Professor Slughorn had a vault here. I call him Professor, but he was also the granddad of my grieving, uhm, chum here."

"I can't give away that sort of information," the banker replied.

"Right, because is a Swiss bank. Thing is, I don't know if you've read the news today, but Professor Slughorn just died! Murdered! Since my chum is his only living relative, surely he will inherit it?"

"We can't do anything until the information has entered our orb-database."

"You mean, unless we have written permission, right?"

"If you want to access the account of a client, you will need to have the written permission _and_ the code."

The banker was very final about that, unpredictably enough. James went back to the others, who had been waiting by the door.

"Now what?"

"There's this thing called 'thinking'," said Sirius.

"Did you learn about it from Charlie's Angels?"

"So Fletcher, genious finder, what's the code?"

"You Gryffindors can't even find a cardinal in the Vatican!" Fletcher retorted. "If only I hadn't been forced to escape the gallery in a rush."

"Is an escape ever _not_ in a rush?"

"Maybe he left another message, and we missed it. Or maybe the code is in my _name!"_

"Or mabe," said James. "If now Slug is such a Flamel enthusiast, maybe he'd choose something really clever for his code! Something like the Vermicelli Sipher or something."

"What's that?"

"I don't know."

"Flamel was Fench. Wouldn't Slughorn therefore choose a French sipher, like the Fete Galante Sequence?"

"What's that?"

"I don't know."

Sirius shook his head at both suggestions.

"Slughorn isn't clever. He couldn't pick something clever for his code. The code is probabl 1."

" 2," Remus considered.

"Even better. He probably couldn't count past two."

"How did you know my account number?" Fletcher asked.

"That's your account number?" Sirius whipped out a notebook.

"12 12 12 12 12 is, actually. 12 is said to be the luckiest number, so imagine how lucky _many_ twelves must be! I wan't to try it!"  
"Hold your horses," said James. "How many tries do we get here?"

"One," said Sirius.

"So we should think about it a little bit more, and not just go with the luckiest number, just because it's the luckiest number!"

"It's lucky, so can we go wrong, really?"

"But we know that Professor Slughorn likes the number 12," said Remus. "For a start, how many minutes is double potions class?"

"120 minutes. And that's including a 12 minute break."  
"Each quiz consisting of two pages, with 12 questions on each."

"He has twelve brown ties."

"He always takes twelve sugars."

"In his coffee or tea?"

"Sometimes."  
"Hang on," said Sirius, taking something out of his pocket. "I also found this. He is going to bet on a horse. Number 12, Stud By Your Mane."

There was no denying that Slughorn liked the number 12. Fletcher was very keen to try it now.

"If anybody is still uncertain," said Remus. "Remember that Jesus had twelve apostles, and that Saint John had twelve toes."

The only problem now as they saw it was that they lacked the written permission to be allowed anywhere near the vaults. They had no choice but to whing it from here. Or merely continue to whing it. James and Fletcher returned to the witch.

"Funny story. My chum just remembered he had the code the whole time."

"And does he have a written copy of the permission the granddad must have sent to us ten days in advance prior to this visit?"

"...Yes..."

"Jolly good. Now, I'm going on a smoking break now. My 19 year old daughter Mary will take over."

The banker put on her over-robe while her daughter Mary removed hers. The banker left through the entrance. Mary nodded and smiled and opened the page she had bookmarked in _Fifty White Lies- Grey Areas._

"Oh, do you have the ring?" she asked.

James and Fletcher needed to confer with the others a second time.

"It's no use getting past their rules!" said James. "What we need is a diversion."

"I don't understand one thing," said Peter. "How come the Holy Grail suddenly isn't the cup Jesus drank from at the last supper?"

"No idea."

"If the Holy Grail is in fact a royal bloodline, what does that make of the cup? They must have had cups in those days, wouldn't they?"

"Forget that stupid book! There are stupid idiots in the world who got nothing better to do than rile people up and cause trouble! Can't stand those guys!"

Then James remembered that Peter was with them.

"When did you get here?"

"I've been here the whole time."  
"Were you in the car?"

"Yes."

"Were you in the gallery?"

"I was."

James couldn't understand why he didn't remember any of that. Neither could anybody else, as it happened. That was the thing about Peter. He was so unnoticable. It was almost a skill.

"I have an idea," said Sirius. "Go stand next to Moira."

"Who's Moira?"

"The banker's daughter."

Peter went to stand next to the banker's daughter, shyly because she was a girl. But she didn't notice him at all. She tightened he scarf for a draft nobody else could feel, but when Peter accidentally knocked down her mug of tea, she just attributed it to poltergeists and made herself another one. She only had her eyes in the book.

"Do you trust me?" Sirius asked Remus.

"No," Remus replied.

"Just follow my lead anyway. Don't ask questions. Just play along."

Together the two went up to Mary. She put away the book and gave them her full professional attention. The three just kind of nodded and smiled amongs themselves. Then Sirius grabbed Remus by the shoulders.

"I don't care what you are, man! They are the monsters, not you!"

Mary raised her eyebrows.  
Remus laughed nervously. "I don't know what he's talking about..."

Then he glared at Sirius. "What are you talking about?"

Seeing no real point in putting it off, Sirius just went straight ahead and smooched him.

Mary dropped her tic tac in her tea and knocked the book of the desk in a bin. Peter pressed a button that looked like it would open the door to the vaults, and lo, it did. James and Fletcher sneaked through it and the door closed after them.

"What was that?" Mary asked when Sirius and Remus needed to refill their lungs.

"Stereotyping and generalising, so, so, sorry," they replied.

"Well just don't do it again. The stereotyping, I mean. Making assumptions about me because I'm a teenage girl reading _Fifty White Lies._ Could be ironic for all you know."

"We'll try. Not to."

"Good. So, want to sign a contract?"

Well they had no choice, if they were to make up for that stereotyping. It didn't matter what the contract said!


	5. Chapter 5

THE FLAMEL ENIGMA

PART 5

James and Fletcher were navigating through a long corridor of blank walls, thinking they'd get to the vaults any time now.

"I couldn't just snog another bloke like that," said Fletcher. "Does that make me homophobic?"

"I think it just makes you not bisexual," James thought, but he wasn't sure on this.

"Oh, right. Are they both bisexual?"

"I honestly don't know."

"Well being a bisexual is very trendy now, isn't it? Apparently we're all bisexual anyway."  
"Fancying David Bowie or Mick Jagger does not make a bloke bisexual."

"It doesn't?"

"No. That is ignorant and offensive to the bisexuals!" It's what James thought, but he wasn't sure on this.

"Some coindidence anyway. I imagine both David Bowie and Mick Jagger have lots of bisexual chums."

"Because they turn blokes bisexual, or because you assume bisexuals like to stick together?"

"Both."

Never had James imagined himself discussing bisexuality with Fletcher in a top secret Swiss bank. Now was really not the time to share the dream he had had involving Darren O'Hare. He didn't identify as bisexual no matter what his dreams were trying to tell him.

Instead he decided to get increasingly irritated and stressed.

"The corridor doesn't end! Where are the vaults?"

They had been walking for _minutes._ Now they stopped, because they hadn't passed a single door and they couldn't see the end of the corridor.

"Maybe this is it," said Fletcher.

"Maybe. Awesome thing we can't see it."

"I don't think it's awesome at all."

Fletcher stroked the walls, like they were were-books, and he knocked on them, trying to listen for hollow sounds.

"Maybe this is a stupid and unnecessary question," he said. "but how do we know that the vault with the Philosopher's Stone is Professor Slughorn's?"

"I find that working under that assumption makes things easier and less confusing."

"It does. It just surprises me that he would have such an important and sought after object, that's all."

"I agree. But what does it matter? Currently we can't see _any_ vault. We can't see if we are close to the right place or if we have gone down the wrong way."

"You know what would be useful?"

"X-ray vision?"

"That would be even more useful than x-ray smell."

James didn't have anything for that. But he did have ten or so pairs of glasses in his pockets, and he wondered if not one of them were of x-ray capabilities.

"These are my reading glasses, my egg painting glasses, by rose-tinted glasses... Here they are, my x-ray glasses!"

James switched his sneaking-around Basil & Meduso glasses for the x-ray glasses. He could now see that the blank walls were in fact lined with a grid of lockers, each of them 34 by 34 normal centimeters. They were containing all sorts of things.

"Wow! Look at all those dead bodies! And I think _he_ murdered them all!"  
The murderer waved. James waved back.

"Finding the stone shouldn't be too hard now!"  
"Can I wear them?" Fletcher asked.

"Hm I don't know. My eyes are used to the strength of these, you see. Not sure you could handle it. I don't see what we need _you_ for anyhow, with these x-ray glasses. All you need is me."

An hour later, and still no progress, James let Fletcher borrow the x-ray glasses.

Fletcher jumped up and down and pointed.

"It's over there!"

"For f-"

"I feel it! In my fingers! I feel it! In my _toes!"_

To James, it looked like Fletcher was just trying to cuddle a blank wall.

"You see it?"

"I see a kind of container. It's a chest carved from some kind of dark wood, maybe walnut. I see that it has brass hinges. There's something carved on the lid, something that must surely have some great symbolic meaning. It just know it's in that box!"

"Do you see anything else in the vault?"

"No."

"Ok. Describe the symbol."  
Fletcher gave the wall an eskimo kiss.

"There are two circles. Then there are two lines, one going from each circle. And then there is a kind of bell shape at the end."

James drew what Fletcher had described. James showed it to him, less than impressed.

"Oh, very funny!"  
"It's true! But how do we enter the code?"

James's smart-glass buzzed. He put the compact mirror to his ear.

"Bambi to Lady. Do you copy? The eagle has landed in the nest. Do you copy? Over."

" _What?"_

"We found the thing, a'ight?"

" _Oh. Then you should have said: The eagle has found the thing._

"How are you getting it on? I mean getting on?"

" _We are outside, across the street from the bank. The aurors are interrogating people. You must hurry."_

"Oh, ok! So to be clear, you _don't_ want us to just relax and take it slow and just sit here and give eachother foot rubs?"

" _Sarcasm! The highest form of wit!"  
"_You've always been so good at it!"  
" _My level of wit only depends on the level of wit of my audience, sooooooo..."_

 _"_ Reading _Picture of Dorian Gray_ does not make you a wit, especially if you zone out after the first five pages and rely on your most swotty mate to tell you how it ends."

 _"I read all of it, front to back. I know he becomes a cockroach and dies."_

"I know you need to find another friend, somebody you can trust will give you the rightending." James actually knew how it ended, because he was not in the habit of insulting a person just before asking for some favour.

" _So, did you find the thing or what?"_

 _"_ We did. But Fletch and I aren't sure the vault is Slughorn's. And because of that, we are having second thoughts about the code."


	6. Chapter 6

THE FLAMEL ENIGMA

PART 6

Across the street from the bank, Sirius was shouting at his smart-glass.

"The code is right I tell you!"

Remus stood next to him, holding a chicken they had borrowed from the Menagerie A Trois. Peter was also with them. Peter was also there.

"What are they saying?" Remus asked.

"They don't believe in the code all of a sudden. Is the chicken working?"

"It's worked a treat so far. The aurors are ignoring us completely!"

"Where did you even get the idea?"

"Harriet Tubman."

"The abolitionist/humanitarian/armed scout/spy during the American Civil War?"

"Is there any other?"

"Oh I thought you said tubby man."

"Horrible Magical Histories class is probably my favourite class."

"Mine too."

Aurors were allover the street, asking random people if they had seen five chaps in their mid-teens looking like they were in a hurry. But they merely dismissed Sirius, Remus and Peter and the chicken as weirdos.

"Bok, bok, bok," said the chicken.

" _What is that?"_ James asked. " _Is that a chicken?"_

 _"_ It's a kind of disguise or diversion of sorts," Sirius explained. "Aurors don't suspect people carrying one chicken."

" _That is really good to know."  
"_So did you find the thing or what?" Remus asked.

" _Fletch reckons we have. But we can't be sure, because it's inside a wooden box."_

"Are you using some kind of x-ray vision?"

" _We are. Oh. I see your point there. Fletch?"_

 _"Wha'?"_

" _Can't you just see_ through _the box?"_

 _"I obviously haven't. Is it a matter of willpower?"_

 _"I think the box must be protected from x-ray vision. With magic."  
"I could believe that. A lot of runes has been carved in the box, so it is obviously protected from many things. With magic."  
"So _there! _But since I got you on the line anyway, do you have pen and paper?"_

Remus passed the chicken to Peter and whipped out a pen and some paper.

"Mhm."  
 _"Ok. I am going to describe the symbol the way Fletcher described it to me, and you draw it, ok? Ready? First draw two circles."_

 _"_ Like that?"

Fletcher's face popped up in the glass, his nose squishing against it, a fly wriggling around in one of his boogers.

" _The circles must be touching."_

So Remus scratched out the first pair of circles and drew a new pair.

"Better?"

" _Are you aware you draw very squashed circles? They look more like ellipses to me."_

"They are fine you are just looking at them at an angle."

"I'll draw," said Sirius, taking the pen and paper. "So first we have two nice and full perfect circles, side by side, no gap between them. Is that good?"

" _They are perfect. Very round and full-looking they are."  
_ "Then what?"

" _Draw two lines, one from each circle. Yes, exactly like that. And then a bell shape-"_ Fletcher gasped. " _How did you_ know?"

Sirius was less than impressed with what he had been tricked into drawing.

"Really mature, guys! Is this some sort of joke?!"

" _It's not a joke!"_ said James.

"I know what that is!" said Remus.

"If you hadn't I would have been really worried!" said Sirius.

"That is an ancient symbol."

"It is?"

Sirius was surprised to learn he had been drawing an ancient symbol on stuffy headmaster paintings for years.

"Men have always drawin that symbol inside caves and pyramids," said Remus.

"Wow, really? How do you know that?"

"Well, boys have, anyhow. At times."

"Since the time people lived in caves and pyramids?"

"I did not say that. I said that boys have at times drawn that in caves and pyramids."

"Like when? How far back?"

"As far back as- when were we in that cave, and then in that pyramid?"

"So it's not an ancient symbol?"

"No, it is an ancient symbol. I mean it. Look at any ancient culture, especially any mesoamerican one. Willies galore. You don't even have to make that stuff up."

"Why would anybody ever want to make that stuff up?"

"Anyway. This is also the symbol of the Shirley Templars. It was they who came to associate it with the sixth toe of Saint John, which was said to contain his virility."

"What's The Shirley Templars?"

"Oh, they were a kind of knight club. They were a bunch of knights. Sometimes, after they had been fighting a holy war all day and protected pilgrims, they wanted to go and club."

"Club what? Women? Seals?"

"Yes, women seals. It's all very horrible."

" _Amazing!"_ said Fletcher. " _I don't mean the woman seal clubbing. But just how do you know all this stuff?"_

"Just a casual interest."

" _This isn't some elaborate practical joke, is it?"_ James asked, remembering last April fools day. " _We're not_ really _looking for a toe?"_

"It all makes sense!"

Remus turned to Sirius. "Do you know how to enter the code?"

"That's easy. Just enter the numbers in the code box thingy."

" _Fletch do you see a code box thingy?"_

 _"I see a code box thingy now! But it's on the inside!"_

 _"Move over!"  
_ James tried to ram his fist through the wall. " _Ow!"  
_ "I have something that could help," said Sirius, taking his scarf off. "Set your glass to recieve."

" _Beep beep ok done."_

"And I will set mine to transfer."

Sirius browsed the album of glass discs that comprised his smart-glass until he found the transfer-disc. He pushed his black wispsilk scarf through it. James took out the scarf from his smart-glass.

 _"Seriously, I don't_ care _about_ _what you think of my colour coordination!"  
_ "It's wispsilk, ok. I don't have wispsilk gloves on me so it will just have to do."

" _Oh ok. Gotcha."_

XXX

Fletcher wrapped the black wispsilk scarf around his neck.

"That is much better. I think I am getting a cold."  
"I meant put it on your hand," said James.

"Oh."

Fletcher removed the scarf and began to wrap it around his hand, making sure to wire it between his fingers so he could move them. Then he put the hand through the wall. He could feel the wooden chest.

"Now enter the code," said James.

"Are we still doin 2?"

"Yes. Saint John had twelve toes, after all. Jesus had twelve apostles. The movie _Aristocats_ is packed with the number 12 and references to Saint John. 'Twelve' is ancient arameic for 'toe'. I say go for it."

"I have one more question."

"What?"

"If Da Vinci painted Mary Magdalene among his twelve apostles, instead of Saint John. Does that mean he left out Saint John entirely in the painting?"

"Just forget that book! We've already established that a man can use a woman model to paint a man if he wants him to look extra pretty!"

"Shall I press the code then, shall I?"

"Please."

Fletcher pressed the numbers, taking care to not hit the wrong button with his clumsily dressed hand. After he had pressed the final number there was a click. The wall disappeared and James could see inside the vault. He seized the box.

"Ok let's go! Remember which way we came?"

"I think it was that way!"

They began to hurry back through the corridor. When they could see the door again Mary's mum appeared.

"Just where do you think you are going?"

"Out, mam!" James replied and stuck the box under his jumper.

"I don't think so. I think I know who you are, for I have been interrogated by aurors. You are wanted for attempted murder. The aurors are on the other side of that door right now. Shall I just hand you over?"

James and Fletcher swallowed.

"I suppose you have no choice," said James, as he envisioned himself behind juvie bars, and his mum denying any relation.

"No, I am asking you," said the witch. "Shall I just hand you over?"

"Erm... no?"

"Then why don't you two just go down that way until you find the emergency exit?"

"You're letting us go?"

The witch sighed.

"This bank can't get any negative publicity. I don't want to have the press running around here, questioning the secrecy and security and that. We'd lose precious clients. Please just leave now so we can all move on."

"Thank you mam!" said Fletcher.

"Not at all!"


	7. Chapter 7

THE FLAMEL ENIGMA

PART 7

The boys reunited without further incidents in a different Ford Cortina, this one silver. Now they were speeding south on a motorway.

In the back, Fletcher kept turning the wooden chest, looking at it from every side, trying to work out how to open it.

The seriousness of the situation only just began to dawn on them all. It began to dawn on James and Sirius anyway at last, after a recent news report on the radio. According to it, the public was terrified of a gang of criminals, and they were also wondering just what was keeping that band of superheroes, TheMischiefManagers.

But TheMischiefManagerswere not about to dress up and stage some sort of fight. They were on a quest to find the extra toe of Saint John at the moment.

James turned off the radio and pushed a mixed tape from the glove box in, so they could listen to _Doctor's Orders._ Do do do-do- doo... He just hoped Sirius would still be able to concentrate and not get carried away. He was already losing it.

" _Says in my condition, love's the best physisian..._ "

They could see auror sirens in the mirrors so James substituted the music for some generic rock. The auror car turned off the sirens and sped by them.

"We can't drive around like this forever," said Remus.

"It's fine," said Sirius. "I've had loooooooots of coffee. Looooots of coffeeeee. Lololololo-"

"I mean I don't want to be driven around you anymore."

SCREEEEECH. James was getting a bit car sick as well when the Ford spiralled down an off-ramp.

"Take it easy, mate! I've had looooots of coffee," Blup. He swallowed it again. "If only there was someplace we could just go and talk about everything."

"Like life?"

"Especially life!"

"What we need is for one of you guys to have a friend who knows a lot about the stone. Doesn't have to be a close friend. Can be a mere aquaintance. Or somebody you hate even. As long as he has a big house and lots of drink. Anybody? Please?"

But alas, none of the chaps had an aquaintance that fit that description.

"Do you know someone?" James asked.

"I might. But we'd have to go to France."  
"France?" said Fletcher, excited. "Are we going to France? Oh how quel le exciting! _Quel mec a volé mon pantalon?"_

There was just something about mentioning France that had everybody and their cactus think they could speak the language when they could not.

"What does that mean?" James asked.

"Did you enjoy the panto?"

"Then it is settled! We are going to France!"

The car was set to fly. They could already smell the wine and cheese.

XXX

The car pulled up outside the tall iron gates of a manor sized hunting lodge somewhere in the lutetian countryside. The boys stumbled through the doors, threw up in the nearby bushes and then they felt better. Fletcher had never felt this impressed in all his life. He had always wanted posh chums.

"Voila mon passport!"  
Sirius pressed a button on the gate intercom. A miserable and squeaky voice spoke.

" _Ville sage, sur un petit nuage."_

" _Il m'faut six oeufs."_

"Allo? Ooo eees eeet?"

"Do you need me to do my Elton?" James whispered.

"If you want."

James's Elton was good, but he needed to switch to his red-tinted star Elton glasses to do it.

"Ahum hum. Oh hallo darling it's me Elton! I'm just out here hoppin and boppin. Listen my good man, I am ever so cold out here, just me and my tiny dancers. HOLD ME CLOSE NOW TINY DANCER! Raisin cane now the poor get fat sniffing pots of glue oo oo oo! I'M A BITCH, I'M A BITCH- Oh, pardon my French! Get it? Pardon my French?"

" _What French yu English pig?"_

 _"_ In France, do you say pardon my English?"  
" _Yes. It is necessary to apologise for the English."_

 _"_ WHEN ARE YOU GONNA COME DOWN? So you're not a fan of my work then, love?"

" _I am not a fan of your work, monsieur John, as eet 'appens. But my young master is a fan of your work. Un moment, sil vous plait, while I ask 'im if 'e wants me to send the dogs."_

The chaps waited, slightly cold in their duffle coats and passing the time singing Goodbye Yellow Brick Road.

"Why is your Elton John always so swishy?" Sirius asked when they couldn't decide what Elton John song to do next.

"I don't know," said James. "Why is your Freddie Mercury always so swishy?"

The gate intercome clicked, but this time it wasn't the butler. It was the young master.

" _Elton John? Is that really you? Why haven't you replied to my letters?"_

 _"_ Well you know, the years went by and rock just died..."

Sirius shoved James aside.

"HiiiiiiiReg! It's meeeeeeeeeeee!"  
" _Wow! Freddie Mercury!"_

"Even better! This is your dear old sweet old dear sweet old ever so affectionate-"

" _What are you doing here?"_

Sirius dropped the act.

"We are wanted for attempted murder and we are looking for the Philosopher's Stone. Open the gates."  
 _"Say the magic word!"  
_ "Because."

" _Was that so hard?"_

The gates creaked open.


	8. Chapter 8

THE FLAMEL ENIGMA

PART 8

The Lestrange Lodge looked every inch the castle of Doctor Frankenstein. The ancestral portraits were completely still and lifeless when looked at directly, but in the peripheral vision their eyes were definitely shifting. Fletcher wasn't so excited now.

The light source of choice came in the form of ghost lights inside glass wall lanterns, creating that kind of haunted-mansion glow that magic folk of the evil persuasion liked so much. Sirius felt home sick. This looked like 'home', and it made him physically sick.

And so far the chaps had only seen the hall.

"Who's lodge is this?" Remus asked, still at the door.

"The Lestrange's," Sirius told him. "They will have gotten rid of all the silver.

"Oh good."

That meant Remus could give his duffle coat to the elf butler Kreech and then go and admire the wall ghost lights.

"Why will they have gotten rid of all the silver?" Fletcher asked.

Sirius turned to him.

"Because they are werewolves," he whispered.

Fletcher began to shake and hyperventilate violently.

"W-w-w-w-w-w-w!"

"They're not here _now!"_

Fletcher ran out of the house, screaming at the top of his lungs. James slapped Sirius upside the head.

"Don't do that!"  
"But it's so funny!"

"I think it would be funny to eat my entire birthday cake but I don't!"

"Then you are a better person than I am."

Fletcher had nowhere to go anyhow. The lodge was in the middle of a dark and thick forest full of dangerous things so he'd be back.

XXX

The drawing room was equally posh, containing the kind of posh things that only a posh person would know of and be able to describe and name. It also contained very posh chairs and sofas and a very posh fireplace.

Trophies were scarce for a hunting lodge. James could only see one stag's head.

"I don't like this place."

The boys sat down. Remus had the wooden box in his hand and he was looking at it with a rune hand-lens. Fletcher barged through the door, jumped up on his lap and threw his arms around his neck.

"You don't mind, do you?"

"Um..."

"I mean, I saw you snog Black before."

"Does that give you some license to sit on my lap?"

"I think so."

"I'm trying to look at the box. Why can't you sit in your own chair? There's plenty of them."

"Because! Werewolves live here! Werewolves have touched these furniture! I can't sit in a chair that a werewolf has sat in! I'd be marked forever! They'd know their scent and track me down!"

"So sit in somebody else's lap."

"You can't sit on mine," said James and put a large pillow over his lap. Sirius wouldn't have any of it either.

It seemed like Fletcher wouldn't have wanted to change laps even if he could. He glared at them.

"I don't trust them," he whispered. "I don't feel safe with them! It's like you can't trust anybody to be what they claim nowadays! The only thing I can be sure of is that you couldn't scare a door mouse! MMMMM!"

He rubbed his cheek against Remus's cheek.

"You have soft skin."

"But haven't you realised?"

"Realised what?"

"I have been sitting in this chair that you don't want to sit in. Therefor, aren't you sitting on it indirectly?"

"OH MY GOD! YOU ARE RIGHT!"

Fletcher trampled allover him in a rush to get off and hide under the sofa.

The other chaps realised they hadn't eaten in what felt like forever. The elf butler meanwhile hadn't showed his sour wrinkly face since he had taken all their duffle coats. So Remus summoned Shishi the Kappa, and Shishi brought them a tray of triangle rice balls with squares of seaweed that made them either looking sheep with black faces or tiny cute fuhrers.

"Padfoot," said James when they had finished all the tiny rice fuhrers. "What is your brother doing here?"

"Watching the house for the week."  
"And he knows a lot about the Philosopher's Stone? Where is he now?"

"Hiding. He's shy."

"Oh. Should we all put on frocks?"

"If you can find them."

"Maybe we can figure out what we need anyway. So, any progress in opening that box?"

"Not really," said Remus.

"Give me! Hmmm... Maybe some sort of password..."

"If only there was some sort of poem, with references to scientists and historical people."

The chaps ransacked their minds, throwing out words and names as they came up. They tried to scramble the names of people and places. They tried to assign the letters numbers and they tried to look at the box in the various light sources available to them. But they got nowhere. Fletcher came out of his hiding place and tried to help but he, too, was stuck.

Since green frocks weren't exactly abound in this part of the lodge, Sirius thought he'd look in the liquor cabinet for something better. Since he couldn't find anything but french liqueurs in the cabinet, he went with Cointreau. He then went to the posh double doors, opened them, and hit a face in the face.

"Ow," said Reggie.

He had books in his arms and he had been eaves dropping. Now he rubbed his forehead. Sirius unscrewed the Cointreau and filled the cap to the brim. Reg looked appalled.

"I can't touch that stuff, I'm 15!"

"So?"

"I'm not allowed to, says mother and father."

"They _say_ that, but they don't mean it."

"Of course they mean it. What are you talking about?"

"They are testing you. They say they don't want you to drink, smoke, sneak out and stuff. But the truth is, that's what they _want_ you to do. They don't want you to stay in and miss out on all the life experience. That's not the way to grow thick skin. Do-gooders don't get ahead in the world."

Reggie looked positively horrified. Horrified and upset he had been lied to in this way.

"Then why can't they tell me to sneak out and do all the drugs if it's what they want?"

"It's to give you a chance to disobey them, innit? Disobedience shows independence and strength of character. What sort of evil minion can you ever be, if you don't go out and make evil connections?"

"I make lots of evil connections at the Junior Flamel Society."  
"Oh really?"

"I made a connection."

"With who?"

"I mean, I put one of my quills on the desk at our last meeting and somebody borrowed it and never returned it."

"You have a hunting lodge to yourself for a week. What will you say to yourself, when they ask you why you haven't turned the place upside down with outragous partying?"

"I promised not to invite anybody."

"Ohhhh dearrr..."

Oh well. Sirius was wasting time. There was a time and place to explain the facts of social skills to Reg and now was not it. This was only putting him down.

"You look like you need this."

This time Reggie accepted the cap. He smutted the tiny lot, clearly not enjoying it. But he would, after a few more. Sirius felt like a barman the way he kept providing him with more drink, and he really enjoyed it. Surely this had to be his calling.

"Do you want to help us open a box that contains Saint John's toe?"

"I don't want to help you and your chums! I had the place to myself! Why you'd have to ruin it?"

"Because we need help. Do you have some problem with my chums?"

"People like them don't like people like me! They don't like anyone who doesn't think like them! If you ask me, I'm the only independent thinker in this lodge. They just take whatever the popular opinion is and pretend they invented it. It is so stupid."

"If they are so stupid, and you are so clever, why not take advantage of the situation? Saint John's toe could be yours!"

"You're mocking me."

But after a few more shots of that vile cointreau and a few curses thrown at his heartless parents, Reg was filled with a kind of confidence only Cointreau could induce and he was not afraid of no pushy Gryffindork!


	9. Chapter 9

THE FLAMEL ENIGMA

PART 9

Reggie stumbled through the fancy double doors to the drawing room, sloshed out of his mind and glare in his eyes.

"You!" he said, throwing a whole bunch of books in the air that then fell back on his head. "Ow. I came here to be alone! I wanted to get away from the likes of you! You, you want everybody to be the sssame! Whaaaaaaaatever! I'll help you with your shtupid boxsh!"

Oh dear, James thought. What sort of drunk was he? Clearly not a happy one. James didn't know where this animosity was coming from, for he had certainly never touched a hair on his pretty head.

Sirius closed the doors quietly and turned the bottle of Cointreau upside down to see if there was _any_ drop left. Reg sure was in for a treat in the morning.

"I just want to say that I'm not afraid of you guysh!" Reg went on shouting. "Not of you, fatty! Are you shcared now? Huh? Huh?"

Poor Peter couldn't understand why he was being targeted like this. He trembled with fear. Reggie laughed and moved on.

"And you, Flotcher! You're a Pufflestup! 'Noff said! And you! Shlupin!"

Reg sunk down on the carpet and began to cry.

"You always say hi to me in the liiiibarbaryyyy!"

It was difficult to see how he could be of any help, when all he had done so far was shout abuse and wet down the rug.

"Even when I doooon't."

James mouthed to Sirius.

"He's pissed!"

Sirius mouthed back: "No that's just tears!"  
James mouthed back: "No I mean he's smashed!"

Sirius mouther back: "Smashed what?"

James mouthed back: "I mean he's plastered!"

Sirius mouthed back: "That's because he hit his face in the door!"

"He's had too much to drink, alright?"

Reggie, meanwhile, was talking to the rug now.

"Screw you, Deb Crool..."

It was quite the pitiful sight. But it was probably good for him to let out some of that steam, even if it was drunk steam.

"Who has the box?" Sirius asked.

Fletcher had it at the moment. He passed it to Remus. Remus passed it back to Fletcher. Fletcher passed it back to him. Remus passed it to James. He didn't want to approach drunk Reg either. He flung it to Sirius, who caught it. He went over to Reg, pat him a few times on the back.

"There there. Anyway here's that box if you want to look at it."

Reggie wasn't quite finished with wrestling with his inner anguish, so the other chaps shared a bottle of Grand Marnier in the meantime. Then, after having spent every last bit of angst, Reg sat up and had a look at the box.

"These two circles represent the sun and the moon, male and female. The moon is female. It's a very female thing. It's, like, extremely female. Moon, cycle, female, bla."  
Nobody was going to say hi to him in the libarbary after that.

"There is a man part and a woman part to every man. No, not woman part. Female part. Or side, like. You know. You get me. We all have a feminine side and stuff. Did, like, Jung say that? He was very keen on the Prima Materia, the matter that makes the stone. But the stone has been made, so it doesn't matter!" Reg laughed until he cried some more.

Then he continued.

"The two lines with the bell at the end represents the unification of both. Male stuff and female stuff that the church hates and wants to kill, especially catholics. They hate Saint John and man things, because Saint John was descended from kings and he was Jesus's lover, right? The churchians are like nooooooooo! That's why the Shirley Templars like to get together and watch old people rompy pompy. It's the way to see God! It all makes sense!"

"Is this all drunk ramblings?" James wondered.

"No it's all true," Remus assured him.

"Old people rompy pompy?"

"Especially true."

Reg continued.

"The Shirley Templars work to protect the pure linage that descends from Saint John. The Philosopher's Stone is actually his sixth toe, and it represents his virility."

"Now I don't get one thing," said James. "The Philosopher's Stone is in actuality Saint John's Toe?"

"Yes."

"It's not in fact a red stone?"

"No."

"The stone that Nicholas Flamel used to turn things to gold was in fact a toe."

"Well no."

"Then what was that?"

"A stone."

"But the stone is Saint John's toe."

"Yes."

"Right. You know the stone that turns things to gold?"

"Yes."

" _That_ and Saint John's toe, are they separate entities?"

"Uhmmmm... Yes."

"And which one is the Flamel Society devoted to?"

"The Philosopher's Stone!"

James felt like strangling someone. Remus passed him the Grand Marnier.

"Does the toe have any powerful magical functions?" Sirius asked.

"No," said Reg.

"Then what's the point in looking for it?"

"Because Jesus was gay and the church doesn't like it and so they must protect the lineage-"

"Ok thank you. What do you make of the box?"

"Hmmmm. Flamel designed this box. It is called The Flamel Box. It's really clever."

"Oh is it? How so?"

"Because it looks like you're supposed to open it like a regular box. But all you have to do is pull it apart."

Reg did just that. It came apart a treat. It was so ridiculously obvious when you saw it.

The box contained a kind of cylinder. It seemed like Reg had seen all this stuff in books, and now he was seeing for real, and it was better than Saint Nicholas Day. He gasped.

"The Flamel Cylinder!"

"What's that?"

"It's very clever."

"How is it clever?"

"You have to enter the password by twisting the rings so the letters get in place. You only get one chance. Enter the wrong password, and it unleashes a nuclear bomb. So be veeery careful!"  
Great. They had to figure out a password and they stood a good chance disintegrating the universe on top of it.

"Now, Flamel was clever, so my guess is that the password i E-"

Reg was twisting the rings. He was entering a password. The chaps shouted protest.

"What are you doing? Are you crazy?"

"R."

The other boys hurried under the sofa, where they awaited the destruction of the world as they knew it, holding eachother tightly. But nothing happened. Something clicked and they came out again. Reg had just unlocked the Flamel Cylinder and now he was taking out a note.

"It's bound to be a poem or quote full of references and clues!"

They could all hear auror sirens now. French auror sirens, which sounded a lot like normal sirens, except with accordions.

"We can't stay here," said James.

"Quick!" said Reg and sprung to his feet. "To the private jet! Where is Kreech, my trusted butler and occasional pilot? Kreech? Kreech?"

Sirius remembered that he had put the elf butler in the boot of the Ford. He went and fetched Shishi from a large fish tank.

"Here he is!"  
Reg heaved a sigh of relief. "There you are! You look different."  
"That's because you are drunk. Now where is this jet?"

"Quick! To the private jet! We are going to ENGLAND!"  
Wahey...


	10. Chapter 10

THE FLAMEL ENIGMA

PART 10

The private jet had ten seats, two doors, 16 windows, one loo and it had been manufactured in Indonesia from plane steel by 200 slave engineers by the name of Ni Hao. It was all sure to prove very important.

Shishi the Kappa piloted the plane.

Meanwhile, the drunk euphoria began to wear off for Reg. He was quieter now. Quieter and greener. But thankfully Remus had in his little med-kit some anti-nausea pills and they sorted him right out and made him fit to down a new bottle of Cointreau.

"Oh yes!" he said, talking about the Young Flamel Society. "We meet every December 12th, at 12:12- yes, twice- and just discuss all things Flamel and the Philosopher's Stone! Sometimes we do visits. It's not new. It was actually founded by Dumbledore when he was, oh yes, 12! Or was 112...?"

He kept talking about the club now, about the activities they did, trips they arranged and the like. Reg was so happy and chatty now, unlike Fletcher, who had become quiet and somewhat morose. It was very unusual to see him like this.

"You seem distracted," Remus remarked.

Fletcher sighed very loudly. "I'm just thinking about myself, who I am, where I'm from..."

"And what have you found?" James asked.

"Like, who are my parents, really?"

"Are they... passed on?"

"No. My mum is very alive and well. My dad is in prison. He has spent most of his life going in and out of prison. So I hardly see him. Everytime he's come home to see me and my sisters my mum will say: Look my darlings, daddy's home! But how do I know it's him, you know? How do I know it's not just some man in a costume?"

"Does your dad look like Father Christmas?"

"Maybe Father Christmas looks like my dad."  
James shrugged. Fletcher sighed again, this time even more loudly.

"When I looked at TheLastSupperin the Louvre tent, I noticed something. Saint John had red hair and green eyes. So I thought, what if _I'm_ the Philosopher's Stone?"

"Whatare you on about?" Sirius asked, tired.

"I have red hair and green eyes."

"You sodding do not!"  
"Yes I do! Have you looked?"

"I think we would have noticed."

"I'm certainly surprised you haven't noticed! All night I have looked very closely at your eyes! Everytime we talk, I think: 'He looked at me with his brown eyes.' Or: 'He fixed me with his grey eyes'. Or: 'His eyes were amber.'"

"Seriously?"

"I've done it a lot! You mean you haven't done the same for me?"

There was really one way to settle this. The other chaps all leaned very close to Fletcher to have a closer look at his eyes. And indeed, they really were green.

"Ok but your hair isn't red."  
"Yes it is."

"Your hair isn't red. It is brown."

"Only when I don't wash."

"Well so what?" James asked. "What's this got to do with Saint John and who you are?"

"But don't you see?" said Fletcher. "Saint John had red hair and green eyes! I have red hair and green eyes! There for I must be a descendant of John the Baptist!"  
"It's only a model!"

"You do realise Da Vinci didn't paint the _real_ apostles?" Sirius asked.

"Of course I do," Fletcher replied. "But he knew what they looked like, and chose models accordingly. After all, he knew that Jesus had such fair skin."

"I think you've had too much Grand Marnier."

Sirius tried to take the bottle from him, but Fletcher held it close to his chest.

"There's another thing! _I was born with an extra toe!"_

They all gasped.

"I sure hope we haven't been looking for your toe this whole time!" said Sirius.

Reg hadn't been paying attention to them at all. He just sat humming _Doctor's Orders_ to himself.

"Pardon me," said James. "You mentioned some lineage descending from Jesus and Saint John?"

Reg burped. The jet smelled like orange. James took that as a yes.

"How can two chaps have any descendants?"

"That is so ignorant," said Reg. "They can adopt, can't they? Or use the circus arts. Surgical cart. Mary Magdalene was their suricate. They used her womb, the Holy Grail. The church hates her, because she used her womb to help her gay chums give their parents grandkids, the most preciousest gift of aaaall! It's against God. So she was wiped out, and women demonised. The church is like that."

"So the lineage does stem from Mary Magdalene?"

""No. Like, that's what stupid muggle is going to think because they don't get magic, only their own science. But because magic is at work here, not science, her genetics has nothing to do with it. Think of Mary Magdalene's womb as a kind of refridgerator. When you put a bit of cheese in the fridge, the cheese hasn't all of a sudden merged with the fridge by the time you take it out. Think of Jesus and Saint John as cheese on toast. Cheese on toes is forever cheese on toast. Put it in the fridge, cheese on toast. Take it out, cheese on toast. Not cheese plus fridge, or toast plus fridge, you follow? They used artifissure insemiregulation. The church can't stand it."

"I understand perfectly now. So was there a poem or what?"

"There was a kind of riddle," said Remus, and let James have the note. "It is really tricky."

James had a look at the riddle.

"What is brown and sounds like a bell? What is this?"

"It is the Flamel Enigma. It is really clever."

"Has anybody ever worked out the answer?"

"No. It's just too clever."  
"What is brown and sounds like a bell? No idea. Anyone? Thoughts."

The plane was dead silent, apart from the engine roar, wind and Shishi the Kappa singing _Sukiyaki._ (Or, as it was apparently really titled, _Ue o Muite Arukō.)_

The chaps listened. And shed single male tears. And smelled sake burps from the cockpit. Kappas were famously not affected by alcohol and could drink relentlessly and still fly planes.

"I wish I understood kappa-speak," said Fletcher and blew his nose in a tissue.

It really was like a real language.

Then the chaps remembered that they had a riddle to crack.

"Right then," said Sirius. "What is brown and sounds like a bell? What is brown and sounds like a bell? If I say it again I will surely crack it! What is brown and sounds like a bell?"

Peter whispered something in James's ear, and James forwarded it to the company.

"What is brown and sounds like a bell? A brown bell."

Peter nodded, hopeful.

"A chocolate with a bell inside," Sirius suggested.

"Are there such things?" James asked.

"Shrug."

"Something else that is brown, with a bell inside!" came Fletcher.

"A frog, with a bell inside, in a delicious chocolate coating," said James.

"Maybe we should just try and think of things that are brown, with a bell inside," said Sirius.

"A brown cat," said Remus.

"With a bell inside?"

"No."

"The riddle is: what is brown with a bell inside?"

"No, it's: what is brown and sounds like a bell?"

"Oh right."

"One of those really old firetrucks," said Reg. "A really rusty one."

"A rusty old ice cream van."

One thing was obvious: this could go on. By the time it was time to land they had: a dirty bell, a plum pudding with a bell inside, a plum pudding shaped bell and a brown bicycle. They were struggling, because they were all such clever solutions.


	11. Chapter 11

THE FLAMEL ENIGMA

PART 11

The Lestrange manor in Briar Rose had a private runway and that was where their private jet landed. The boys felt a bit like the Beatles when they walked down the stairs from the plane. But they weren't faced with a crowd of hysterical girls. Only a pair of hysterical aurors.

"Crap crap crap!" they said and ran back up to find the chicken.

Except for Reg. He continued down the stairs, for he had not even noticed the other boys turning back. He walked up to the aurors, his pretty head held high and flask in hand.

"Evening, banoffeesirs!"  
The two arurors exchanged glances.

"Young man-"

"There's no need to feel down I SAID-"

"I AM Inspector Lookbehindyou," said Inspector Lookbehindyou. "And that song hasn't even come out yet."

"I know that I haven't finished writing it."

"This is my assistant, Seargeant Tiger. We are from the Wizard Yard."

"You and what army!"

"Are you hiding criminals on that plane?"

"Now look here!"

Reg drank some more of that Cointreau and wiped his mouth with the sleeve on his duffle coat.

"I am very posh! Like, crazy posh! Slytherin, Flamel, Plantagenet, I stem from, like, all of them! Everything that is French and noble and dark, it is on my tree! _Now is the winter of our disco tent!_ Now my father is a very big shot attorney! He can have you guillotined before you even can say the longest placename in Wales, which is something like Llymwoomblymblimblomblim. So, what say you to a bribe, hm?"

Reggie opened his wallet and threw up in it, as well as his shoes, and then the auror's shoes.

"Oi the plane's taking off!" cried Sergeant Tiger.

XXX

It didn't feel good leaving drunk Reg with the aurors. But he'd be alright. He wasn't a wanted criminal. The aurors would just phone his parents and then his mum would kiss him on the cheeks and brag to her friends what a _teeeeeeerrible_ son she had!

The plane was just circling Britain at the moment. The chaps had yet to figure out where the clue was pointing to.

"What is brown and sounds like a bell?" said Fletcher, scratching his slightly unshaven chin.

He had been slouching. Now he bolted upwards.

"I got it!"

"What?" said the others.

"King Kong in a bear costume!"

This made Sirius think about it differently.

"The box! Where is the box?"

Remus gave it to him. Sirius ran his hand over the symbol on the lid.

"What is brown and sounds like a bell? DONG!"

"Is that a dong, or are you saying dung with a cute regional accent?" James asked.

"I'm saying DONG! It's so obvious! I dare anybody to tell me it isn't obvious!"

"You know, since you just dared us, now we are obliged to."

"It's good," said Fletcher. "But dongs do come in a multitude of shades."

"Yes of course," said Sirius."And where are there dongs in a multitude of shades?"

All the chaps cried in unison: "THE ICELANDING DONG MUSEUM!"

"And here I was worried," said Remus. "That the lack of witches during this entire quest could be taken as, uhm, not very feminist."

"You were thinking: a bunch of dongs is going to become a BIGGER bunch of dongs!" said Sirius.

"Uhm... well...yes."

"We'll just have to make a note of making up for it sometime."

James opened the door to the cockpit and told Shishi the Kappa to set course towards Eyjaphallojokull, a dormant volcano in Wizard's Iceland currently harboring the world's largest collection of phalli.

The sky path to Eyjaphallojokull was riddled with dragons for Shishi to dodge with his skillful piloting.


	12. Chapter 12

THE FLAMEL ENIGMA

PART 12

The Icelandic Dong Museum was built in 1212 by Nicholas Flamel. It displayed 12 billion phalli, all from his private collection. It had 12 hundred loos, the cafeteria offered 12 types of whale dishes and it was surrounded by twelve geysers, all named Bjork, which was Icelandic for twelve. All sure to prove very important.

But it was past midnight and the museum was closed. A caretaker was doing some late night or early morning window cleaning. James realised he didn't know a single icelandic word.

"Hello-jokull!" he said.

The caretaker looked at him. James talked more.

"Eyjafjallapenis. Voulez vous courgette mientras que lobo esta begsteigen ja, ja..."

"We're closed," said the caretaker.

"We just want to have a look around."

"Boys like you come here to steal penises for a laugh all the time!"

"Surely not...!"  
James was not going to leave without the duck one!

"Oi what's that supposed to mean, 'boys like us'?" Sirius asked, sensing unjust stereotyping.

"Ruddy immigrants, invading our country with your cute accents, stealing our penises!" said the caretaker, angry.

"Ok fine," said Sirius. "We'll go. The museum is probably full of silver penises anyway. And we just can't stand silver penises."

The caretaker lost all colour, dropped his window scraper and bucket, ran to his flying range rover and took off. Fletcher lost all colour, too, and he began to keep his distance from Sirius.

They entered the museum. It was full of penises.

"I'm looking for the duck one," said James.

"Is it brown and sounds like a bell?" Sirius asked.

"It is long, looks like a cork screw, and I could use it to open McGonagall's Teeling."

"McGonagall doesn't drink Teeling!"

"No?"

"Teeling is Irish whiskey, you fool!"

"I meant Loch Lomond."

"That's better."

"I bet she only drinks Teacher's anyway."

"Of course she doesn't."

"She doesn't?"

"She doesn't drink blended. Only single malt."

James did kissy-sounds.

" 'She only drinks single malt!' Mwa mwa! Must be so difficult for you, this unrequited love."

"I can't wait to be 21..."

And be a boytoy to a cougar.

"Poor Cas," said James.

"Cas gets me. I love her. Also." It was complicated.

"You have Grand Marnier, don't you?"

"Here you are."

Sirius passed James the Grand Marnier.  
At least Remus was trying to solve that riddle.

"What is brown and sounds like a bell?" he kept asking himself. "What is brown and sounds like a bell? Dim sum. Tim Tam." He stopped. "Tim Tams! Tim Tams are brown!"

Remus turned around, and in doing so he bumped into Fletcher, who had been keeping very close.

"Oh," he said, upon being bumped into. "What were you saying?"

"I said Tim Tams. I- why are you standing so close to me?"

"Because I'm afraid! Do you find me clingy?"

"Nooooooooooooooooo. Yes."

"I am sorry. I don't mean to be so clingy! It's just that I don't trust Sirius!"

"Why not?"

"Because I think he's a w-w-w-w-w-w-wwwerewolf!"  
"Come now. Why do you think that?"

"Because he won't enter buildings that have silver in them!"

"He only said that to scare the caretaker."

"He didn't just scare the caretaker! He just seems to have this weird obsession with them!"

"What, caretakers?"

"No! W-w-w-w-wwwwerewolves!"

"He _does_ seem to have a weird obsession with them, doesn't he?"

"Who would have such a weird obsession, if not one of _them?"_

"It's not exactly much to go on, is it?"

Fletcher sighed, more loudly than ever before.

"Oh, maybe you are right. I blame that book, _I Don't Bite Hard._ I also blame _Fifty White Lies._ It's made me overly suspicious of blokes who are 'cool' and 'bad'!"

"Is that right?"

"It's why I could never suspect you, my friend!"

Alleviated from his fears, Fletcher patted Remus on the back and went to look closer at a badger's willy.

"Bastard..," Remus thought.

"Honestly, what sort of man does this?" Fletcher asked, in regards to cutting penises off badgers.

"Flamel did," said James. "It was one of his hobbies."  
"Where have you been?" Fletcher asked.

"In that room there. It's where they keep Flamel's stuffed body. A sign there explained everything, of how it was one of his hobbies to cut the penises off animals."

"He really cut them off personally?"

"Yes. It's how _eunuch_ them. Thank you for asking that, so I could say that."

"But surely, that is not how eunuchs are made-"

"Surely it's a way to make them don't ruin the joke!"

"Oh!" said Sirius. "I thought of something that is brown and sounds like a bell! _Ding_ leberries!"

"I said that!"  
"When?"

"I thought of one, too," said Remus. "What is brown and sounds like a bell? Tim Tams."  
"Now that is just silly."

"I have one as well," said Peter. "A brown tank!"  
"We've already settled this!" said James. "Aren't we looking for a brown dong?"

Then Fletcher looked up. He ran to the center of the room.

"Guys! Look!"  
The other chaps did. A giant phallus shaped bell hung above them.

"This must be it! Doesn't it?"

"You tell us," said James.

"But where is the toe? Is it inside it? I don't understand. It seems so right, but I don't know where it is."

An elderly woman with a cleaning trolley came their way. She seemed elderly and friendly.

"Hello," she said.

Eavesdropper.

"Hi," said the chaps.

"Looking for something?"

"Well, since you asked..," said James. "We're looking for the Philosopher's Stone."

The elderly woman laughed.

"We get people looking for it all the time!"

"Oh do you?"

"All the time!"

"Well, we had this clue. 'What is brown and sounds like a bell?' Then we saw this bell and thought, it's got to be it. But now we're just kind of stuck."

"That's because there is no Philosopher's Stone!"  
"Pardon?"

"It's just symbolism for Saint John's toe."

"We know that. We are looking for his toe. Where is it?"

"His toe? That's just symbolism."

"For what?"

"Male virility. The holy blood line. Naughty things. The church wants to forbid naughty things, soooooooo..."

"Lady, how do you know there is no toe?"

"Because that's just a story my hubby and I made up to spice up our love life. We like to pretend we can't see each other, then put on masks and explore eachother with people watching."

"That sounds fun."

The elderly woman carried on with her trolley and late night glass case cleaning. James was so annoyed. They really had been wasting their time!

"I don't get it!" he said. "Why can't a stone be a stone, and a toe be a toe?!"

But Fletcher wasn't done. Now he wanted to go and look at the stiffy or stuffy.


	13. Chapter 13

THE FLAMEL ENIGMA

PART 13

The room with the stiffy or stuffy was in fact the gift shop. Flamel's body sat in a glass case. Taxidermists, creepy and weird as their chosen profession was, sure were skillful craftsmen. They had very succesfully managed to make Flamel look like a very dead and stuffed corpse.

"You know," said James. "There are people who steal Jeremy Bentham's body."

"I think you should choose between the stuffy and the duck's penis, mate, we don't have much time," said Sirius.

"I want the stiffy I mean stuffy!"  
Fletcher had his hands against the glass case.

"Flamel. Stuffed. Toe. Let me search those shoes! I need a diamond and some gum!"

Sirius had a diamond in his cobra earring and Remus had gum. Fletcher stuck the gum to the glass case. Then he looked at the ring.

"I'll be really careful."

"That is really ancient and worth several fortunes and it's full of secret powers," said Sirius. "So please break it. Please. I beg you."

Fletcher glanced at the ring again. Seemed like such a shame to break such a beautiful item.

"Can't you just give it to me if you don't want it?"

Sirius shrugged.

Fletcher stuck the ring in the gum and then he whacked at it with one of the souvenir phalli. The glass case didn't even scratch. Fletcher flung the gift shop phalli over his shoulder.

"What is brown and sounds like a bell? What is brown and sounds like a bell? Oh it doesn't fit!"

"You know don't worry about it," said Remus. "You know that the Shirley Templars was just an excuse for-"

"Old people rompy pompy, you're right. It's a beautiful thing, is it not?"

"Ok."

"Funny thing..."

"What?"

"We never actually rung that bell out there."

By jove he was right.

"I can go and ring it, if you want."

"Hmmm. Naaaaw. Welll... Would you?"

So it was decided. Remus was going to go and ring the bell, because who knew, maybe it would make a wildly unexpected sound. But it seemed like a good idea to not let him go alone, despite what he claimed his own magic capabilities to be (awesome.). So James went with him, and Peter as well.

XXX

Sirius and Fletcher sat on the floor in the gift shop playing exploding go fish.

"Go fish yourself," said Sirius.

Fletcher plucked a card from the puddle of cards between them.

"Oh no I got the fish joker!"

The fish joker jumped out of the card, slapped Fletcher in the face with its fin, making him smell a lot nicer.

"That makes me King Trout again. You lose." said Sirius, putting down his hand of cards and getting up.

"Oh no. Best of fourteen?"

"What's taking so long?"

Fletcher cleaned up the cards, shoved them back in the box, and put the box back among the other gift shop card sets.

"My throat is itching. Can I borrow that lovely scarf of yours?"

"You had it last."

"Oh right."

Fletcher searched his duffle coat. He searched it some yet again.

"Woopsie?"

"What?"

"I think I lost it."

"You lost it? That scarf belonged to my mother's mother's mother's mother's mother! She will be livid, my mother's mother's mother's mother's mother!"

"I'm sorry!"  
"It's fine."

"I will look for it!"

"Really, you mustn't bother."

"In fact I probably left it on the plane."

"I threw it out, it was covered in sick."

"Did your brother get sick allover it?"

"No I just saw a puddle of sick in the street and rubbed the scarf in it."

"I thought you had washed it!"  
"That's because it now smells like you."

Sirius was getting impatient. No he was getting more impatient. He was impatient. Just what was taking so long?

Fletcher laughed.

"It's so funny!"

"What is?"

"I thought you were a werewolf!"  
Sirius fixed him with his cold eyes of the palest grey.

"I am a werewolf."

His eyes glowed like moons so it had to be true! Fletcher screamed and ran out of the gift shop.

"It was a joke! Come baaaack!" Sirius yelled after him.

The walls began to shake worse than the liquor area of a duty free shop on a ferry and he had to hold on to the doorframe and watch gift shop items fall off the shelves.

They had found the bell tower and it rang.

" _BUNIONNNNN!"_

Glass shattered everywhere; the windows, the inkwells and, most important of all, the glass case containing the stuffy of Nicholas Flamel. The violent shaking began to subside and Sirius could let go of the door frame.

"Right," he thought. "Bunion."

It couldn't get any clearer than that. Sirius knew that he had to remove Flamel's smelly boots and search them.

He approached the stuffy that had fallen off its chair during the violent shaking and now lied in a puddle of glass shards. And boy did he smell. Formaldehyde and Stilton. Sirius had never encountered a cheese he didn't like until he had tried Stilton. Now he wished he had his gran's wedding robes to take his sick. Alas he did not. He would just have to keep it down for later.

He had over the course of the day gotten used to the potpurri of odours that was Fletcher. But he'd never get used to this, so he would just have to pinch his nose with one hand to prevent himself from going the way of Jimi Hendrix. With his free hand he removed first the shoes and then the socks.

What had he even expected to find? The stuffy had five toes on each foot and no bunions. Was he supposed to break one of them off? They all looked like they had been nicked and then reattached several times.

Fletcher poked his head through the door.

"You sure it was a joke?"

" _Yes!_ Help me!"

Fletcher had returned not a moment too soon. The stench was killing Sirius. He needed fresh air.

"I'll be just outside," he said and had a smoke in the hall outside the gift shop.

Fletcher seemed entirely immune to the smell. He picked up a boot and turned it over. A small parcel fell out.

"This has to be it!" he said, ripping off the paper.

"What is it?"

"It's the Philosopher's Stone!"  
"Which one?"

"The Philosopher's Stone!"

"Is it a toe, or a stone?"

"I don't believe this!"

"What?"

"You have to look for yourself!"

Fletcher went to Sirius with what he had found. At first Sirius thought he had found the actual _stone,_ which was very good news and the only interpretation he was interested in. But there was more to it. Like those amber stones with insects inside, this appeared to be some kind of red amber with a toe inside!

James and Remus came running. As did Peter, albeit lagging behind a lot.

"Did you find it?" James yelled.

"Sure did!" Sirius yelled back.

"Awesome! Can I see?"

Sirius threw the stone across the room. James put on a blindfold and caught it. He removed the blindfold.

"Now that's what I call a satisfying compromise! Now let's go and find the duck penis and then get out of here!"

They were all about to start running when it began to rain gummybears.

"Aaahh gummy bears everywhere!" they cried, as they warded of fthe gummybears.

"Not so fast!"  
That was the unmistakable voice of the main chaps looked up towards a large high seated window. There he stood, supporting himself against one frame, a boy in a black cowl and a cape fluttering in the wind.


	14. Chapter 14

THE FLAMEL ENIGMA

PART 14

"Remember me?"

The boy in the cape and mask flew, seemingly without aid, from the high seated window to a two meters tall obelisk.

The chaps struggled with their memories. That and with getting out from under a mountain of gummybears.

Peter ran first. Fletcher was torn.

"We have your loyalty, don't we?" James asked him.

"Loyalty is a two way streeeeeet!" Fletcher eventually decided and ran off as well.

So the five were down to three. But it wasn't the end of the world, since they were the most (if not only) duel competent anyhow. James knew he could take ten of those super-villain wannabes alone.

The super-villain cleared his throat to get their attention.

"I asked you a question!"  
"Oh yeah. What was it?"

The super-villan struck a different pose.

"Remember me?"

"Hm no not really."

"How do you not remember me? I terrorised the halls of Hogwarts! I striked fear in the hearts of you all! My gummybears were the stuff of nightmares! You must remember me!"

"Well you know, it was the 70's..."

"It was last year!"  
"Hang on," said Sirius. "I think I remember something, actually. It's The Conk, right?"

"I'm The Cape!"

"I like what you did with your nose."

"I'M THE CAPE!"

"Alright! What do you want?"

"What do you think I want? I want the Philosopher's Stone! Hand it to me, or else!"

"Very well," said James. "Are you ready?"

"Am I what?"

"It's very brittle. Don't drop it!"

The stone had been rewrapped in its original parcel. James threw it to The Cape. The Cape felt the weight of it. Then he opened it.

"It looks very real for a fake."

He looked at it from all sides and angles, looking for evidence of it's fake-ness.

"It even feels like the real thing. I have to hand it to your attention to detail. It has the exact odour I would have expected, a mixture of formaldehyde and blue Stilton."

Eventually The Cape stopped doubting that the stone in his hand was real. He just couldn't believe that they had thrown it to him, just like that, without a fight. They were acting like Hufflepuffs.

"Alright what's the catch?"

"I don't know. Just the corruption of the soul, I reckon," said James. "Must be some way to verify that it's real."

"Well," said Sirius, looking back towards the giftshop. "There's always..."

"What? What's in there?" The Cape asked.

"The stuffed corpse of Nicholas Flamel. Why not use it on him?"

"You're really telling me to go in there, bring his body to life, thereby practicing very Dark Magic and gaining a horrible minion?"

"Mhm."

"What's wrong with you?!"

"If it's against your ethics, then I just don't know."

"Must be a better, less dark way," James thought.

"I am pretty sure there isn't one."

"You can just put in on a mirror," Remus mumbled.

"I don't think it works on inaminate objects, only dead things."

"The reflectionnnnn."

" _Oh."_

Theory: dark things did not have reflections.

James shouted at The Cape: "Put it on a mirror!"

"No!" replied the Cape. "I think I would prefer to put it on the dead guy! You just try and stop me!"

He hovered down from the obelisk with his arms out. Then he began to walk backwards toward the gift shop. He didn't turn his back until he was at the door. Then he ran inside the shop and the chaps could not see what he was doing in there.

Nor could The Cape see what the chaps were about to do. They ran behind a pedestal with a mammoth willie on top, and there they became the Mischief Managers.


	15. Chapter 15

THE FLAMEL ENIGMA

PART 15

The reanimated body of Nicholas Flamel came out of the giftshop. The Cape came after it. He was laughing like a proper megalomaniac.

"I have brought back Nicholas Flamel with the Philosopher's Stone! Perhaps I do have what it takes to become a Dark Lord one day! Father shall be so proud of me at last!"

Then the Mischief Managers did their surprise reveal. They rolled out from their hiding place, on their roller skates and wearing those buttmasks and formal shorts. They were of course also sporting their gadgets.

"Not so fast!" they yelled.

The Cape gasped.

"The Mischief Managers!"

"Do you remember us?"

The Cape put up his lovely nose.

"No."

"Now kindly hand it over!" said James, or MisMan Springroll as he was known as when he was known as that.

"There's three of us and one of you. You have no chance!"

" _I_ have no chance? Get them, Nick!"

Nicholas Flamel walked towards them, arms stretched out, eyes aglow. He drooled and he reeked so badly of that formaldehyde and stilton.

"Do you want some gummybears?" The Cape asked. "They're really useful!"

"Great, not just a twit, but an _annoying_ twit, trying to be the next Wonka!" James muttered. And frankly it was a really weird thing to want!

Sirius pinched his nose. "I might have fags in my shorts. Can you get them out for me?"

"No."

"Do you know what I have?" Remus asked, with just an undertone of smug.

"An upside down butt mask?" Sirius replied.

"Nope."

"I can't let you do this super-gig with an upside down buttmask. It looks stupid."

Nick was getting closer and closer and he wasn't even very fast. That was enough time wasted on making sure Remus had his buttmask on right. The MisMen just didn't know how to defeat Zombie Nick using their gadgets only. All they had was chinese finger traps, a rubber chicken and a can of nuts that actually contained bubblegum snakes. What they needed was something to cut Nick's legs off.

The Cape, on the other hand, was just standing back and letting Nick do all the dirty work.

"One of us should just have a giant chainsaw," said Sirius.

"I am so glad you finally agree," said Remus.

"I forgot you felt that way so I don't now."

Then James decided to act. Using his finger traps, he seized Nick and flung him over the balustrade. to the groundfloor. The MisMen rolled to the balustrade to look at him, thinking these museum floors sure were great for rollerskating.

Nick lied on the floor, on his back, struggling to get up again. James turned back to the Cape, all action-pose-y.

"MisMan Springroll, saying Shang- _bye!"_

Then he saw that The Cape was no longer standing at the top of the obelisk. He was gone. They had to find him!

"Down the stairs!" said Sirius, and so they all slid down the railing.

Nick was already on his feet again. Sirius used his rubber chicken to knock him off them, but it was only a temporary solution and not enough to incapacitate him for good.

"Look!" said Remus, looking up at the tall ceiling. "Art!"

"Enough about The Last Supper, Mary Magdalene and old people rompy pompy!"

"No! It's modern art!"

"Anything but modern art!"

"Look I said!"

Sirius looked up, as did James. They saw something abstract looking hanging from the ceiling, something they hadn't noticed before. It resembled a kind of sheet of steel, about two meters by a half, thin as any razor blade.

"I have to say, not bad for today's art."

"It's modern art. Not contemporary art," said Remus.

"That explains why it's not embedded in smug artist farts."

"Is it symbolism?" Sirius asked.

"I don't know. It's all the blades that Nicholas Flamel used when he aquired his, erm, collection pieces. They were arranged like this, post-humorously, to create one giant blade!"

It seemed like the perfect weapon. It was just that...

"But it's all the way up there!" said James.

Sirius flung his boomerang rubber chicken with the brick inside at the two attaching points with all his might. The giant blade came off, as did the front of Nick's feet when they were sliced. He toppled over. James dropped the blade again over his legs, using his finger traps naturally.

"I already did my catchphrase," he said. "Shall I do another one?"

"Do you have a good one?" Sirius asked.

"No."

Remus rolled towards the now at last incapacitated stuffy. But then the Cape made his surprise reveal. He had been hiding out nearby, in the shadows, and he got the Stone off Nick first. Then he slid down the staircase railing.

Remus whipped out his can of not-actually-nuts, shook it like a spray can and released the bubblegum constrictors. The Cape had just made it to the groundfloor when he found his ancles were being ensnared by said bubbegum constrictors. He tripped and fell, the stone fell out of his hand and slid across the floor. The MisMen hurried after it. Remus had been the closest, so he got to it first.

"Ok it's your catchphrase now!" said James.

"Um," said Remus, a little out of breath at the moment. "MisMan Peanut-"

"Macadamia."

"Uhhhh... Make love, not walnut?"

" _Make love, not walnut?"_

"WELL I DON'T BLOODY KNOW!"  
"Ok, take it easy..."

The Cape managed to heave himself up.

"Give it back," he said.

"Of course we won't," said James.

They had the stone. They were on the groundfloor and the exit was only a matter of steps away (or rolls). There was nothing standing between them and said exit except for a tiny gummybear. James flattened it with his rollerblade.

"That's what I think of gummybears."

Then the flattened gummybear began to swell and grow several meters tall. Those bubblegum-boas had dissipated. The Cape was standing up again.

"AHAHAHAAA!" he laughed, like he had rehearsed it. "Try to flatten it now! Now it is going to eat you. You will choke to death inside it and the stone WILL BE MINE!"  
The huge gummybear growled. It reached for the MisMen, picked them up and stuck them in his mouth.

They couldn't breath. They were becoming dizzy fast.

Just as they were on the verge of losing their consciousness, _another_ superhero appeared!

He was short, he was plump and he was dressed in green flypaper. He had tentacles coming out of his sides, with monstrous heads that looked like flower buds with shark teeth. He was also surrounded by flies. And covered in them.

The Cape was so surprised he stopped fueling his sinister gummy bear arts to see what this new person was about.

"I heard the _buzz!"_ said the superhero.

The Cape gasped. "It's The Poo!"  
"I'm not The Poo! I'm the Fly Trap!"

The huge gummybear attracted The Fly Trap's army of living flies. The flies, in turn, attracted his army of venus fly traps and they began to bite at the gummybear until the MisMen could come out again. They gasped for air, for The Fly Trap truly _stunk!"  
_ "We can't breath!" they gasped.

The Cape was struggling with the smell as well. He was gagging.

"I need gummybears!" he said and stuck two up his nose. "There. All better. So useful."

But not for long! He got flies in his throat and began to cough, utterly disgusted. The Fly Trap ran to the MisMen.

"Are you alright?"

"Super. Thanks a lot, The Poo..."

"I'm not The Poo! I'm The Fly Trap!"  
"Could you keep the flies away from us?" James asked.

"Oh no it's in my gum!" Remus complained, forcing him to take out his gum and stick it under the nearest desk.

"Fags, anyone?" Sirius asked. "It's _soooooooooo_ useful!"

It was true, the flies _hated_ the cigarette smoke and kept well away from Sirius.

"I'll have one of those," said James.

"Here you are. Moo, can I interest you in one of these? It's really useful!"

"You have a problem," Remus replied.

"My probem is that you are refusing my help."

"Your problem is you have cigarette marks in your nostrils."

"It's better than plucking bubblegum from my nasal hairs for a month."

"If you prefer the pain..."

"I'm not sure your method is _less_ painful."  
"... Touché."

Remus didn't much like smoking, but he wasn't too proud admit that sometimes bubblegum fell short and there were cases when fags were better. When it came to warding off flies, being the one example he had ever encountered.

This melted some of Sirius's bubblegum jealousy, seeing him draw smoke into his lungs and his buttmask pass puffs of grey, and then nearly cough itself off.

"You know my legs have never been smoother..."

"Oh you've discovered that?"

But enough about waxing and hair removal.

Meanwhile, the fight was now between The Cape and The Fly Trap. The Cape was waving off flies desperately as several venus fly traps kept nipping at him.

"Not the flies! Not the flies!" cried The Cape.

"Say you've surrendered!" The Fly Trap demanded.

"I surrender! I surrender!"

"Jolly good, then!"  
The Fly Trap withdrew the fly traps and the flies and turned his back on The Cape.

"Come with me!" he said to the MisMen. "Maybe you can finish waxing your legs after I have brought you to safety!"

"The Fly Trap, look out!"

The Fly Trap looked around himself, and then up. A current of gummy bears washed over him, burrying him. He tried to escape, but there was just so much of it he stood no chance. He was going to be buried alive in a mountain of gummy bears!

"Stand back, you MisMen, or you are going to _miss_ The Fly Trap! Because he will be DEAD! If you want to save him from the shower of gummybears, you know what to give me!"  
The MisMen would have done just that. But then they could see somebody behind him, in the shadows, getting closer. They could also hear the rollerblades.

"What are you all looking at?" asked The Cape. "Come on! I haven't got all night!"

MisMan Latte was standing right next to him, wearing the buttmask and boob-apron. The Cape had not heard his loud rollerskates at all, or the repeated falls.

"Why aren't you doing or saying anything?" The Cape asked, getting annoyed. "I understand that I am terrifying, but based on what I've read about you in the press I would have thought you were made of tougher stuff than that!"  
MisMan Latte, or Peter, could see that The Cape did not even know he was there, and he wondered if he was expected to do something heroic now. He had been in the loo for so long he had hoped this whole thing had been sorted out by now.

Meanwhile it was still raining gummybears over The Fly Trap.

"Oh come _oooon!"_ said The Cape. "The Fly Trap is dying over there! You call yourselves super- _heroes?"_

If Peter didn't act soon, one of the other MisMen were going to because this was wearing on their patience as well. Peter, on the other hand, could not understand why _they_ couldn't do something. They were in effect just standing there, not looking particularily under threat or tied up.

Then a fly got lodged in his throat and he began to cough. A lot. A really lot. A really really it echoed _so much._ The Cape didn't notice him until he got spit on his cheek. He wiped it off.

"The hell are you?"

Terrified, Peter pressed the boobs on his novelty boob apron in sheer flight-or-flight panic, squeezing jets off asses milk allover The Capes villain outfit.

The Cape ran into the shadows, crying.

"Noo I'm lactose intolerant!"

And he was gone. It stopped raining gummybears over The Fly Trap.

"You have to say a catch phrase!" Remus told Peter.

"OK!" said Peter, euphoric that he had gotten rid of The Cape. "MisMan Latte! My milkshake brings all the boys to The Yard!"  
They all agreed that that was the best catchphrase in the history of catchhrases. Then The Fly Trap came crawling out from under the hill of vanishing gummybears.

"Where's The Cape?"

"He's gone now," said Sirius.

"Oh good. My work here is done."  
"Mine isn't. I didn't even get to say a catchphrase."

"Well there'll be other super-villains," said James.

"I know. I just don't think I can top: My milkshake brings all the boys to The Yard. It would be pathetic to even try."  
"It would be so soon after anyway."  
And even when actual Death Eaters appeared, explaining how The Dark Lord greatly desired the stone and the convoluted means by which he had intended to aquire it, and Sirius was honoured with knocking them out with the brick boomerang rubber chicken, he didn't bother with any catchphrase.

And even if his "respect" for Peter had always been nil, after that one brilliant catchphrase, it was ever so slightly a little more than nil now.


	16. Chapter 16

THE FLAMEL ENIGMA

PART 16

The private jet glistened under the peach sky. The air was so chill it kept everybody's eyes open. The MisMen were ready to spin out of their super-robes, back into their marginally less super-selves. Their real selves were in actuality more super, since they had _wands._

"So," said James to The Fly Trap. "It was nice meeting you, and that, but..."  
"I think we should see other heroes!" said The Fly Trap and ran around the museum.

Phew. So that was him gone. The MisMen did their reverse super-spin. Now they were wearing their duffle coats again.

They boarded the plane and made themselves comfortable in their seats.

"I wonder where Fletcher is," said Sirius.

"I thought he'd be in here," said James.

"Oh well. Let's just take off anyway."

The magical engines began to roar, and the plane began to roll across the car park. A chance look in the window and they could see Fletcher running after the plane, shouting and waving.

Shishi hit the brake. SCREEEEEEEEECH. The chaps fell off their seats. Fletcher ran up the stairs, through the door and collapsed in a seat, exhausted.

"I was," Pant, pant. "Hiding, or something. I heard fighting. Where were you during all that stuff I only heard but didn't," Pant, pant. "witness?"

"Uhm we were just trying to contact local aurors," said Sirius. "The stuff we heard, but didn't witness."  
Then he turned to the others and they whispered: "He doesn't suspect a thing!"

And Fletcher turned to his reflection in the mirror and whispered: "They don't suspect a thing!"  
Then they asked each other: "Who are you talking to?"

And they replied: "Um nobody."

They were flying now. Remus had the stone in his hands. He was contemplating giving it to Fletcher.

"I suppose this-"  
So James took it from him before he did something so mindlessly rash!

"-is what a partially decayed toe looks like," he said. "What should we do with it?"

Fletcher looked a little stumped. It seemed unfair to him to be left out like this, while they could just share it amongst themselves.

"I feel like I should have it," he said.

"We don't," said Sirius.

"I mean, it's what Slughorn wanted."  
"He wanted to you find it. Not to have it."  
"Why did he want me to find it, if not to have it?"

"Look, it's obviously all the same to him _who_ finds it and has it! Besides, those Death Eaters explained everything back there."

"All they said was- I mean, all I _heard_ was-"

"If you heard what we heard, you'd know it's pointless to even discuss this. It was all made very clear, from what we heard."

Fletcher crossed his arms.

"So unfair!"

"I tell you why you can't have it!" said James. "Because it is dark, evil and it will corrupt your soul!"  
"So how come you can have it?"

"Because only the one who _doesn't-"_

"Bollocks!"

"Try and get it why don't you?"

"That's nice. What's a bunch of posh chaps need alchemic stone for?"

"For your information, _I'm_ not posh."

"Yes you are!"  
"My folks are... upper-working class."

"They are diplomats, nothing working class about that," said Sirius.

"They work and they have class. Working class."

"You, my friend, are a toff in denial."

"So what? That stone is still bad for weak souls."  
"Oh, let the toff decide what is bad for the rest of us!" said Fletcher, very uppy at the moment. "The toffs with all the gold say that gold is bad!"

Clearly there was no reasoning with him. He clearly didn't know what was good for him. James turned to Sirius.

"You're on my side, aren't you?"

"Oh sure. I want the stone. I want to turn a bunch of useless stuff to gold."

"We should destroy it."

"Destroy it? Now that's just acting superior. It's not yours and if you want to vote on it right here you won't be in the majority."

So James turned to Remus.

"You know it's dark and dangerous don't you?"

"I don't know," said Remus.

"You don't know? You know all that stuff about TheLastSuppperand Saint John's extra toes but you don't even know it's dark and dangerous, although it is common knowledge?"

"Well so what?"

" 'So what?' It's bad and should be destroyed!"

"Pardon me, but aren't you being just a little bit hypocritical, if you want to save the weaker masses from bad things?"

"No."

"Lot's of things are bad if you abuse them."

"It's gotten to you!"  
"So maybe the best way to settle this is to just give it to Dumbledore."  
"Excellent idea!" said Sirius. "We'll enjoy a lavish luxury holiday in Florence, and _then_ we'll give it to Dumbledore!"

Now there was something they could all agree on. They didn't know what the weather was in Italy was this time of year. Even so, they could already hear the opera and smell the espresso.

XXX

EPIC LOG

Florence.

"Florence sure is nice, isn't it?" Fletcher asked.

"It sure is!" the other's agreed.

Happy End Foreveeer!


End file.
